#spoiler: its the /intentions/ part

[teratomatica]

you always land on all fours

[smile-files]

mommy let you use her ipad, you were barely two

and it did all the things we designed it to do

now look at you, look at you!

(objectober 2024 day 10: internet)

[cent-scratchnsniff]

something bad did indeed happen to that man. spent abt 25 minutes trying to find a better picture of that one (1) offical piece with his eyes open that wasnt compressed or tiny

[tainebot01]

When it comes to Themis Academy's indirect first impressions seen in AAI2, compared to the more in depth look we're given in AA5-3, it suprises me to see how many parallels Robin and Eustace share, intentionally or otherwise:

Originally they were forced to become prosecutors through overbearing parents who gave them impossible standards to live by, and a warped image of what it means to be a prosecutor thanks to said standards

Both are incredibly emotional, highly sensitive to any sort of flaw in their craft, and end up engaging in rather destructive behaviors as a result of any slight against them (Robin breaking seemingly perfect pottery / Eustace's baton slap to the face)

They both have a strong tie to a piece of capelike clothing as a part of their self image, which is emphasized using a notable red & blue contrast (Robin and Junie's costume / Eustace and the valedictorian’s jacket)

They end up temporarily disregarding their own aspirations of becoming a prosecutor after a drastic reveal in their respective arcs, before reclaiming them in the end after their view is shaped by the player character (Athena saving Junie / Miles seeking the truth)

The new gameplay mechanic of their respective games is incorporated as a way of building them up rather than breaking them down (the Mood Matrix used in identifying the source of Robin's discomfort / Logic Chess used in repairing Eustace's self esteem)

And - most importantly imo! - their arcs both culminate with them learning how to live their lives according to their own terms, instead of having an inconsiderate authority decide for them.

[fadetouchedsilk]

'see the problem is you just don't know what a slow burn romance looks like and--' no, the problem here is that i Do & i also know that 20 minutes of cutscenes primarily delivered near the back half of an 80+ hour game is not actually enough time to develop a satisfying slowburn relationship

'well he's been traumatized so his reactions won't be as overt and--' i also get this & i think that's a very logical angle to take this from! however i also know that there are ways to indicate subtle/awkward reactions to the flirty dialogue that aren't just a blank stare & a change of subject. honestly cullen in dai is the first example i can think of here, but i know there's more.

i think it's an issue in general that we don't really get to be active conversational partners with any of the companions (dialogue wheels please return to me) but for something that's supposed to have a lot of tension and build-up over a (comparatively) long stretch of time, it really ends up hurting it. this doesn't even mean i need more full-blown cutscenes, but maybe some ambient dialogue, or a codex--something to pad out the pacing, essentially.

the problem i keep having is i do genuinely like what we have & i Can see the vision! i love lucanis a whole lot & i am also defaulting to what i usually do in these games (read: filling in gaps/altering scenes to better fit with my oc, etc) but the same as so many other things in this game, what's presented on screen ends up not quite achieving what i can see it aiming for. it's not a question of whether or not i understand the structure of a slowburn or delayed gratification. i do, & that's precisely why i can see where things are lacking.

[dxxtruction]

Do you think - all speculation here but let's indulge a bit anyway - do you think, from Armand's perspective when he's in all likelihood just heard Daniel voice his complaints and beg to be turned into a replacement for all Louis' lost, that that could be a part of his choice to then come in when Louis' on his neck? That a part of him was thinking... even if Louis is angry in the moment... that Louis would inevitably do it? (He could, at least?)

He kept him alive all this time. He'd shared with him things he never shares. It's morning and he'd still kept his attention. He's special, Armand knows without needing to hear it out of Louis' mouth.

And like, from his perspective does he see this replacement as the last thing Louis needs? Considering how well filling a void by making another vampire had turned out for him the first time. How he'd been filling a seemingly un-fillable void as it is. How he's unstable, and not in the right mind to be taking on such a responsibility. How it's a bad idea doomed to fail, only a more disastrous mess to clean up in the end if he doesn't stop this now. Or, maybe let's say he's only at all concerned with himself, Armand has many selfish reasons to want Louis to move on. So, he at least finds Daniel, the potential of Daniel, to be a threat because of what he'd be replacing - leading to Daniel as this wedge between something that was already splitting hairs as it was. Maybe it's a bit of both, and either way, whether it's a success or not Daniel poses something Armand can't handle.

Anyway it'll be interesting to see how, or if, they bridge the initial feelings towards Daniel on Armand's part with the Daniel we have now. Cause there's a lot of questions there. There's a strange sense of fondness towards him? At least this is something I'm seeing in their interactions so far.

[suffarustuffaru]

I love your otto brainrot. He's favorite person to gush about in this series. I also love your analysis about one of the latest chapters and regarding Otto! ust, chef's kiss.

Anyhow, I would also like to add a crack theory about why otto never talked about his dp allowing him to talk to infants too. In this moment, it very much be because, as you said, he wants Spica to be eliminated. But! We're thinking small here. My question morphs into a more general perspective; why would Otto, and tappei to an extent, keep such information about his dp under wraps for this long, way before these Spica shenanigans? And I feel like the author may want to expand on that regard. Because as far as the rest of the crew knows (and as far as I remember), they know he can only talk to animals. But that chapter states he can talk to any living being (?), which I think may hint to it being a bigger fucking deal than we may realize. Like outside the Louis development, as well as Otto's frustration development, this power in of itself can cause a ripple of what Otto's capabilities are, and to not underestimate it.

So, now I wonder, would tappei utilize this tidbit for more development about Otto's power? What do you think?

aa thank you for liking my otto stuff!! i adore him a lot and arc 8 has me even more fixated on him bc his development is so Fascinating.... and also my fictional character type has always been the weird fucked up ones with terrible morals HAH.

OK ALSO LIKE i love your crack theory to bits. i think like the idea of his capabilities being A Little More Massive than they already are hasnt really occurred to me if only bc 1. i have like one braincell at a time and 2. ottos unhinged anger and various ugly habits (ie: doing things behind his friends backs HAH) were smth i was distracted by (positive) bc its so fascinating and now Finally everyone reading rezero knows hes crazy For Sure and 3. i think like. idk ive always kind of thought that his power is like super crazy like once you think about it. like iirc theres the canonical fact that other people in the fantasy world whove had ottos dp have gone like insane from it, so hes Basically the outlier here. and also hes insane anyway but his dp absolutely has partly to do with it. not only bc it like affects so much of his life with the constant overstimulation he experienced for a big chunk of his childhood along with the other effects it had with how he was behind his peers for a while and it made him socially awkward and anxious - but also like.

animals Are insane. a lot. genuinely. and then you have a power that allows you to understand them and hear their voices all the time. (more under read more bc its Long.)

theres so many fucked up animal facts out there HAH so i suppose that could just take like a couple google searches (god.... if oceans were in the fantasy world otto might go a little insane with all those sea creatures if he ever came close...) but i always feel like ottos learned at least a bit of his ruthlessness from that. and hes Definitely seen and heard shit (dont forget stuff like livestock ahah T^TT or bug infestations or something aljsdfls or the fact that otto would probably be seeing animal friends eat other animal friends or before he even knew he had his dp he could be eating some cattle he had a convo with like twenty minutes ago and ALSO garf and fred have their meat pie recipe that they adore and its like. that meat came from an animal and otto has most likely seen them make their meat pie before). but like nature is nature. its not always. Nice. survival of the fittest and things just die sometimes (ottos made various animal friends throughout his life and Many animals have smaller lifespans than him as well + some, such as bugs, are more fragile than him) and animals take actions according to their Nature (even if its. Bad, by human moral standards.) and all that - so i think the double whammy of ottos dp and him taking on merchant ideals is very much partly why hes so insane fr HAH.

I WENT A LITTLE OFF TOPIC BUT no yeah i agree. and i just think his dp has always been such a huge factor in what makes him so dangerous - its not only helped mold him into who he is as a person (especially when you remember that the rest of his family are Normal People and he Very Much Is Not Normal) but also like you said. his dp makes him extremely dangerous especially with the new information that he understands babies. iirc otto didnt Necessarily keep that bit of info under wraps - at least not before he met the emilia camp, bc the text said something about how hed take on side jobs where he babysat infants and hed be good at it bc he can understand the intent behind their wordless "words". and i definitely think otto - and tappei - havent really said anything on his ability to talk to infants before this bc it just hasnt come up in much relevant context until now. BUT I ALSO THINK YOU HAVE A POINT bc this does open like. a bit of a can of worms. theres these 2019 tappei qnas where he talks a bit about otto understanding "intent" -

Q: Is Otto's Blessing of the Spirit of Words limited to sounds that the speaker understands? Can he translate something Subaru wrote down in Japanese, or something that someone reads out loud phonetically without understanding it's meaning?

A: He can't. It's a blessing that conveys the intent of the other person's words, so if you said something like "Honbaradaratodetta", it wouldn't mean anything. It's just that, if Subaru had been saying "Honbaradaratodetta" for years to mean "What's for dinner?", it would convey that.

Q: About the "Blessing of the Spirit of Words" that Otto has, in cases where the same word can contain different meanings, can he discern the difference? (The English word 'servant' and a servant from Fate, etc.)

A: It's not the letters, but the speaker's intent that he picks up, so he could tell the difference.

--

but no yeah like........ ottos dp is specifically about Animals and well. humans and demihumans ARE animals. so it makes sense that it carries into humans and demihumans a bit so the whole catching someones intent thing is super fascinating and i feel like he could Definitely utilize it for more of his schemes?? esp when you combine that with the usual ways he uses his dp with animals - his power is Perfect for spying on others and gathering info in general. from my understanding of his power though, animals have to agree to help him, but given he can communicate with them and hes. well hes a good talker and also a bit of a manipulative bitch (affectionate) so like getting animals to help him doesnt seem like too much of an issue usually for him. so no but yeah his power is like. Off the Charts. and now we got big confirmation in the main story that he can UNDERSTAND PEOPLES INTENT BEHIND THEIR WORDS....? no yeah i think tappei will at least utilize it for the louis-spica plot things (ie otto wants her dead so hes just not gonna say anything about how he knows her true intent isnt to actually hurt anyone).

but i feel like otto could possibly use it for plans... or accidentally catch tidbits of info he shouldnt. im not entirely sure how, but. well. roswaal still hasnt delivered on his promise to kill everyone if even one person subaru cares about dies and Now roswaal knows that 1. otto plans to continue opposing subaru and emilia and keep pulling strings and 2. subaru wants louis to stay alive because he cares about her. it seems like massive emilia camp inner conflict is bound to happen at some point hah... the current situation is a ticking time bomb T^T and thats ON TOP of otto still working on restoring the book of wisdom... it all makes me wonder if otto will overhear a convo he shouldnt and catch the true underlying intent to otherwise innocent dialogue. or something like that.... or if louis's intent fluctuates in some way which otto will be Very aware of. if that happens. or if someone else somehow figures out ottos hiding the fact that he knows louis is innocent via his dp alsdjflsjdf. or maybe roswaal hints at his genocide plan and otto figures out the intent???? everyone is at a stalemate atm fr and im fascinated to see what comes next.

though. ok given otto went insane hearing the white whale..... well you could just fling mabeasts at him and maybe he'll shut up lajsdlfj bc using his dp (especially when overusing it gives him nosebleeds and headaches and pain and etc etc) against him is a Viable strategy to stop him among many others but like. the problem with otto is that hes persistent and Will hold a grudge against you if you wrong him. like i really do feel like he will hunt you down if you do which is the big Thing with otto. T^T hes unpredictable!!! especially now with arc 8 where hes been dragged through all these dangerous situations he did not sign up for and he just wants him and his friends to be safe but said friends want to save a whole country and NOW a sin archbishop alsdjflsjd.

like i really feel that hes so tired of things happening throughout his life out of control (remember his bad luck T^T and the way his dp used to fuck him over in his childhood? yeah T^T) that hes been trying to exert more and more control over his camp. bc like. vincent asking the emilia camp for help was nudged into that direction by otto. ottos also stepped a bit out of line by being hostile to julius and anastasia bc. otto that shit was unncessary aljsdlfjd theyre your camps allies!!!! and now ottos letting his camp be sus of louis by keeping quiet about her true intent. like otto is straight up like. hes kind of possessive of his camp isnt he? bc hes so fixated on making things go the way he wants (not that he wanted to help vollachia, but he wanted to help subaru and emilia which is why he pushed things in that direction, and now he wants to kill louis). it all makes me wonder if he'll ever have to use his dp against his camp given hes. kind of already doing that by lying to them - though itd probably be difficult to use his dp more actively against them if only bc they all already know what his dp is. theres no element of surprise there, but i think with the right circumstances he could possibly use it to figure out Something at least. bc like while he Does feel guilty, there is next to nothing stopping him from doing more shit on top of the shit hes been doing so far in arc 8 HAH. his moral compass is just literally broken and pointing straight down to hell. that mixed with his stubbornness and intellect and anger is like. well anyone going against otto is pretty fucked.

like. what is stopping him from sending a little bug to spy on subaru at all times. probably the fact that subaru and co. have a high chance of maybe noticing it and noticing that ottos keeping. too close of an eye on them. which would stop otto and his new declared "i walk in darkness" goal but all of this keeps making me wonder what lines otto WONT cross. and how far hes willing to go to do what he thinks is necessary to save his camp. and also what the consequences of his decisions will be.

but also like............................................... ok time for a crack theory of my own are you ready. anyway. can you imagine if ottos dp extended into fucking mind reading or something............ HAH.

[alteredphoenix]

This is probably the first time in a while that I’ve read a manga chapter, especially MHA, where I’ve gone Wait, that’s it? not out of anticipation (or, you know, the chapter going by too fast because Action Scenes) but because it’s very clear it got chopped in half to make the workload easier on an author who’s breaking his back just to make it to the deadline.

Like, it is very clear Horikoshi - or WSJ, or both - is just dragging his way toward the finish line like a starved and dehydrated man. I would say he needs way more than two weeks to recuperate and take care of his health, but then we’d have to wonder if the break would even matter considering we’re (arguably) watching the reverse play out with JJK where Gege is flooring the gas pedal as far as he can make it go just so he can blast through the finish line so he can make that idol manga I guess idk.

Personally I just find it sad to watch what might possibly be an author (and his assistants) struggling to keep up in real-time. And not even just an author, but one who’s done two other manga in the past that didn’t have anywhere near the same level of success MHA has garnered and was pretty much on his last strike with getting a successful story out the door for WSJ.

I think about what MHA Could Have Been if he’d just stuck to his guns with some of the original intents he had for the story (e.g. the UA Traitor reveal being done in the Summer Camp Arc, humanizing the LoV, making the world Darker and Edgier as time goes on, etc.), but this is not that kind of industry where you can let your story breathe and take its time anymore, and so we’re given the hand we’re dealt with.

[cryptosexologist]

rain world watcher review its rambling its long nothing of honor is contained here etc: stuck in the right side of Aether Ridge, with my ways out either being Go To A Zone Whose Only Connection Is THE FIRST ONE, taking me on an a-b-c-a route (and i'm not exactly confident theres anything linked to Coral Caves (first zone) that isn't either Aether Ridge still the way that i got there first time or, like, locked behind progression shit (i had to look up spoilers to not ragequit on that locked-from-the-other-side portal, had no clue what i was dealing with). also why the hell would they chop up the original Aether Ridge mod like that but just LEAVE the dead-ends to its subregions just. sitting there. like that. theres so many rooms that feel like they should lead SOMEWHERE but noooope! also the rain is making increasingly less sense why not just go the Saint route for the snowy area (not saying it needs temperature regulation mechanics, though that'd be more INTERESTING actually, but just. have it be a blizzard that kills you at end of timer or some shit X[ )

Also me being "stuck" because the way back is too fucking windy in the wrong direction has honestly looped back around to comedic. I took the wind to imply there was something Worthwhile (hence the new mechanic) thaterways rather than the horrible acid tunnels but instead its leading me in a loooooooooooong circle.

so far my favorite New Area is the torrential railway with barely anything in it that just leads between Coral and Aether, and my favorite part of the DLC was the beginning before *any* of the new regions because watching (lol) the visual changes corrupting the familiar environs in a way that made way less sense than Downpour's timeline goings-on had a good and spooky vibe to it. I've heard theres similar stuff later along those lines but. I need to. Get there.

Addendum: like two weeks later but ok yeah it gets better, i enjoy yume nikki cat

[sassy-pistachy]

Oh I like this!

I also can't stop wondering, what is the reason we're spying the OIAR employees? In TMA (spoilers), we as listeners were put in The Webs place. We listened to whatever The Web was interested in, and the spying started when Jon became the Archivist, because he was The Web's master plan.

In TMAGP, who's doing the spying and why? The podcast starts when Sam joins the OIAR. He's the only OIAR worker with a connection to the Magnus Institute, maybe that's it? JMJ are interested in him because of that? Idk man.

TMAGP Theory (Freddie and Glitching)

So we know that the tape recorders were from the Web in TMA, I don't think it's a stretch to say that that's still what's spying on the main characters in TMAGP, but, I don't think the glitch is part of it, rather, the glitch is the .jmj error that Freddie just can't seem to get rid of

Especially if we're assuming that the jmj error is connected to John, Martin, and Jonah, it would make sense that it would have the ability to suss out when something is a lie given the connection they all had to the eye

I don't think the entities are present in TMAGP in the same way they were in TMA, but I do think this bit of continuity makes sense

[archives-of-a-hidden-writer]

Something Else

Thanos / Choi Su-bong X Nonchalant!Cold!reader

》Typing... |

》 [Entry No.003 - Something Else]|

》 Loading Archive Entry "Something Else" |

》 Location of Entry: Archivial's |

》 Tip: Feel free to support the Archiver |

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》 Notice: Cataloged Entry, Part: (I) II III IV

》 Summary: Sometimes, being too calm at intense situations and gaining a bit of attention, even if it's from someone who is too high for this bloody game.|

》 Warnings: Spoilers for Season 2 of Squid game until at least episode 3-4, occur during and before the 1st game, reader's number is 457, implications of drug use, flirting, murder, blood, swearing, Thanos flirting with ji-woo before going after you. |

》 Archive Entry Loaded ◇

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You thought everything was messed up, as you had somehow gotten yourselves into this so-called 'Squid Games'.

You wake up in an unknown place filled with people you barely recognize. Although some gave a sense of familiarity, you didn't delve deeper into this feeling. You don't know what was happening after all, all you remember was playing ddakji with some salesman who definitely did not give you a suspicious feeling and gave you a weird card after the game, and then all of a sudden, you're here in this children-themed place. Now, you are being told to sign a waiver before playing a 'game'.

As everyone lined up to sign the paper, the one in front of you, who's number is one lower than you, seemed to be slower than the rest, seemingly actually reading the written rules before signing it.

Shrugging the man's intentions off, you signed the paper with a quick glance at the rules. It might be useful to you in the future, keyword, might.

As you finished signing yours, you walked off the line to go somewhere in the room or the called dormitory. As this occurred, a ruckus was happening on the sideline as a purple-haired man attempted to punch another guy but was stopped by his friend.

You somehow recognized those two from social media, one known for making his fans invest in a crypto coin and the other being a rapper.

You just silently tsked at them before moving along, not noticing the gaze that followed me from the purple-haired dude, but it was soon averted as I noticed another girl.

■■■■

"Everyone please line-up one at a time," the announcement echoed through the labyrinth of a room as people, now called players, each took their turn standing in front of the monitor and taking a pic.

As you waited for your turn, another scene occurred with none other than the rapper from before as many approached him and started mentioning how much of a fan they were of him. He then called all of them to group-up and take a picture together, followed by the man calling the braided girl that you now noticed as player 196, but she rejected him. The whole ordeal was soon stopped by a pink guard nearby.

■■■■

As you reached the end of the labyrinth of stairs of a room, you and the players reached the seemingly 1st game.

An announcer soon welcomed you all before saying to wait as the game starts, Red light, Green light, the game is said. Everyone scoffed and snickered as the said game was a kids' game, but one man wasn't having it as he ran to the front and started screaming of how they would kill you if moved.

As the man screamed, you just raised an eyebrow at the player's antics, what a weird guy, but it wouldn't hurt to d whatever this crazed man says. But it seems a few were still snickering and joking at the man.

Soon, the game started, the child-like doll then started to turn and chanted 'Red light, green light'. Everyone started to move until the doll stopped speaking and turned its head at us. The man earlier screamed to freeze, no one moved.

The same thing repeated until mostly everyone reached the halfway mark.

As everyone froze, the few silent seconds were disrupted by a girl's scream as she spun around and moved before being followed by a gunshot and a thudding of a body. It was soon followed by another scream and gunshots as everyone who panicked and moved was shot and killed with the man from earlier screaming for everyone to not panic and freeze.

The real chaos and hell began.

■■■■

A few moments after the wave of deaths, everyone stood close to each other, lining themselves into lines to hide from the doll's detectors.

The plan somewhat worked, with a few getting detected and shot as they either failed to hide or accidentally moved.

It was once again disrupted as the purple-haired man had killed at least 3 players as he pushed them while the doll's head was still towards everyone. You scoffed at the man for killing others, but did you even have anything to say as the two of you met gaze before you looked away from him, focusing on the game at hand.

As you focused on the game, Thanos, the purple-haired man, couldn't remove his eyes from you. Unlike the other players, you were somehow a bit calmer than them, more eased at this as if it doesn't phase you one bit. It didn't help that he was, at this moment, had already taken his little candy and is over his own head. You were really something.

■■■■

Soon enough, mostly everyone got through the line, and now everyone can finally have a breather as they survived.

Everyone was then brought back to the dormitory, pretty shaken up by the game given to them. Well, everyone but you and some few players, you were pretty shaken up as well, but not to the point you looked like you just went to an actual war field.

As you do your own thing on your bunk bed, Thanos had his gaze on you from the other side. 'Player 457... You're...' "Something else..." he muttered his thoughts as his pupils twitched, looking around before seemingly coming back to you. His looked over to him and asked if he was alright. He answered that he's alright in english, earning a confused look from his friend.

Despite barely meeting nor talking to you like what he did with player 196, he seemed to be just as smitten at you. But could he even manage to muster his hyped feelings before the games take his life?

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》 Archiver's Notes: A short something for someone, @sukratyaropia24 , as a fellow squid game watcher and heavy on Thanos aka T.O.P. Had to skip the majority of what happened during the first game. Apologies for that.

》 Additional Archiver's Notes: Extra notes, I have removed one tag as I have noticed it wasn't even mentioned in the entry, which was reader choosing 'o', more so, the first voting wasn't mentioned yet.

[earthtooz]

Wrio the slay calling reading clingy so reader sleeps on couch …😊 thx

x : DISTANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: you overhear wriothesley calling your affection too much, so you respect his wishes and give him some space. yet, why does he not seem like it?

warnings: 5.6k words (why did it get so long), hurt/comfort, gn!reader and wriothesley are married, pet names, no spoilers but set in canon, misunderstandings and miscommunication af, slowburn??, you might tug your hair out at some parts lol sorry, fluff with angst but happy ending, it gets emotional.

a/n: okay this was definitely not my favourite piece, i was experimenting with writing styles and writing in an omnipresent pov... so sorry if it feels clunky at some bits. overall, i'm pretty happy! also sorry for not sticking to the original prompt

Perhaps today was a bad time, you think as you leave the Fortress of Meropide, anxiety churning in your stomach and doubt weighing on your mind. Despite Fontaine’s sunrays shining brightly upon you, you feel anything but warm.  

What started as a visit to your husband with kind, wholesome intentions of delivering some lunch to him on your day off ended with a visit that left you riddled with questions. Coming at a time when he was in a meeting nearing its end, you didn’t even get the chance to speak to him, yet his words rattled around your head, replaying like a broken disc. 

“How are you and your spouse?” A rich voice echoes from his office, door slightly ajar signifying that whatever discussion was happening within was coming to an end.

“Y/n and I? We’re amazing, thank you,” Wriothesley answers. “I’m always happiest whenever I’m with Y/n.” 

The company, who you have realised is Monsieur Neuvillette, responds. “That’s good to hear.”

“Although, Y/n has been quite… affectionate recently, to the point that it’s borderlining too much-”

The conversation is drowned out by a ring of an alarm on Wriothesley’s desk and the atmosphere from his office suddenly grows in tension. The voice of the two men turn from relaxed to alarmed in a matter of seconds, and that is when you decide it is probably time to take your leave, lest you intrude on whatever emergency has happened.

Dropping the lunch you brought for Wriothesley at reception, even the receptionist was confused by how quick your visit was since they typically lasted for an hour- even longer since Wriothesley likes to push the amount of time he gets with you. They don’t question it, though, merely nodding in understanding when you tell them to drop it off for him on your behalf.

Has Wriothesley always thought of your affection as too much? If it was overwhelming him, why didn’t he tell you? And why Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, of all people? You understood the nature of their relationship- how they both tend to confine in each other with whatever they are troubled by, but why couldn’t your husband come to you about this directly? You made an oath on your wedding day to be fully honest with each other and to never hide anything. Where did that promise go?

Arriving home with a heavy heart, you immediately flop onto the couch, arm covering your eyes as tears sting the corners of your eyes. Perhaps it’s time you lessen your displays of physical affection before you drive the love of your life away.

Wriothesley, looking down at the contents of your boxed lunch, feels his heart warm in his chest at your display of care. How fortunate he is to have someone like you, he thinks before eating, satisfying his hungry stomach that has been aching for food since half an hour ago. He wonders why you didn’t see him personally and dropped it off instead, he would have liked to eat with you beside him.  

Whatever the reason, he’ll make sure to drop by your favourite bakery to purchase some conch madeleines as a thank you. 

When he returns home later in the evening, you’re asleep on the couch, curled up with only a book on your chest to protect you from the chilly air seeping into the house. Wriothesley quickly lays his coat over you, bookmarking the page you were at before retreating to change into more relaxing clothes. You still have not roused when he returns and as much as it pains him to disturb you, he doesn’t want you napping too late lest it disturbs your sleep schedule.

“Y/n?” He gently shakes you. Slowly, you come to wakefulness, eyes fluttering open as you gaze up at your husband.

“Wriothesley? You’re home?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes whilst slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Nearing six in the evening.”

“Oh my! I didn’t mean to sleep that long! I’ll go get dinner ready, you should rest, you must have had a long day-”

Silencing you with a warm kiss to your forehead, you don’t melt into it like you usually would, his words from earlier slamming back into you like a brick. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, merely brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll cook,” Wriothesley offers, grabbing something he left on the table behind him. “Have some madeleines I bought for you whilst you wait.”

He places a bag of the baked goods in your hands and you smile at him, lips chapped and eyes still drowsy, yet Wriothesley thinks you’re the most beautiful being to ever exist. 

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” The dark-haired leaves you with another kiss to your temple before turning around to go into the kitchen. However, you stop him with a tug on his wrist which you drop almost immediately when he turns around, acting as if his skin was an open flame that licked you. 

“Darling, you have a sticker on your arm.” You reach up to grab the piece of adhesive, ripping it off him in one smooth motion. 

“Those melusines,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For how much Wriothesley scolds them, he cannot bring himself to actually get mad at them, letting the little creatures play pranks instead of reprimanding them. 

“I’m surprised they keep getting by you. Maybe you need to sharpen your instincts.”

“Quiet, you,” there’s no bite to his words.

“They put a little crab on you,” you giggle. “Must be going through an ocean-themed sticker book. You had a little shell on you yesterday.”

“I did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I find it funny.” 

He sits down beside you, dinner momentarily forgotten. “Do you now?” The dark-haired murmurs. “Turns out my own spouse is against me also.”

“If it brings me amusement, why not let the melusines play their pranks a little longer?”

“You are an awful influence,” Wriothesley winds his arms around your torso, pushing you down into the pillows of the couch. There, you almost sink into him, lured by the warmth of his embrace, but the memory of what you overheard sinks into your gut like an icicle, and your smile fades.

You pat his shoulders in surrender. “Shouldn’t you be working on dinner, dear? It’s already quite late.” You pray he doesn’t notice the way you have suddenly altered the mood, drying the playful atmosphere.

If he does notice, he doesn’t comment on it, getting up with a groan before retreating into the kitchen. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

There’s a whistle from the doorway to your bedroom, low and appreciative, and the culprit is no one other than Wriothesley. He walks towards you, draping himself over your figure sat in front of the mirror. “Where are you going tonight?”

“Clorinde and I are going to dinner together,” you tell him nonchalantly, as if all of his weight wasn’t on your shoulders right now. 

He pouts. “When will you be home?”

“Not too late, that’s for sure. We’re meeting at the other side of the Court of Fontaine, though.”

“An evening without my love, whatever shall I do?”

“You’ll live,” you smile before raising a necklace up to him. “Help me put this on?”

With a huff, he raises himself off your back and gently takes the jewellery from your hands, careful with the jewels that adorn it. His cold touch grazes against your exposed skin, sending shivers down your spine as he successfully clasps it together. When you meet his gaze in the mirror, it’s full of adoration and admiration, and you have to busy yourself with your hair lest it flusters you too much. 

Standing up, you swiftly walk out of the bedroom and towards the front door. Wriothesley trails behind you without much thought. “I’ll get going now before I’m too late.”

“Do you need me to accompany you there?” 

“It’s alright, thank you for offering.” Disappointment floods him like an ocean as he watches you put on your shoes. With one final fidget of your clothes, you deem yourself presentable and turn to him. “See you tonight, darling-”

“-Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” Your eyes widen in alarm as you begin frantically patting yourself down. “I brought my wallet, keys? They’re here, what am I forgetting?”

Wriothesley pretends like your cluelessness doesn’t hurt more than it actually does. He taps his cheek. “A kiss.”

“Oh, of course. How could I be so careless?” you laugh, the corners of your eyes scrunching with delight. Wriothesley has a remark resting on the tip of his tongue but it quickly dies when you step forward, anchoring your hand on his chin before you press a kiss to his cheek; to both cheeks for good measure. 

“Love you,” you murmur when parting. 

The desire to keep you home is a burning one, and pleads of ‘stay’ threaten to spill from his mouth. There is nothing more he wants than to be in your arms, to cling to you until the weekend is over in the blink of an eye, but you are your own person, and no matter how needy he is, Wriothesley should not stand in the way of your fun. 

“I love you more,” he sighs, holding open the front door for you. “Be back soon.”

“I’ll try. Bye dear!” You blow him a kiss before walking out of your garden.  

He watches you leave with a heart heavy with longing, closing the front door once you’re out of sight and tries to sigh the feeling of emptiness away. 

Later that night, Wriothesley greets you the second he hears the front door being unlocked, urgent strides allowing him to turn the corner just as you open the door, looking as pristine as you did when you left. There’s a small, tired smile on your face, but you look happy, blissful expression brightening when you see him. 

“Hello, love,” you say, slipping your shoes off.

“Welcome back,” he says, embracing you with one, muscular arm whilst pulling you in for a kiss. Your hands unusually fly up to hold his shoulders and Wriothesley thinks he’s imagining the way you push him slightly, as if trying to get him out of your personal space. Yet your grasp on him was so tight, creating temporary divots in his skin that he doesn’t really know what you’re trying to do.

Why are you trying to push him away in the first place? The thought of you not wanting him near is upsetting enough to make him unknowingly tighten his grip around you, causing you to stumble into him from the momentum. 

You look up at him, shocked whilst he gazes down at you with a storm of terror gathering in his eyes. For the first time since the two of you got married all those years ago, a rift forms.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Whatever occurred that night isn’t a topic of conversation, ever. The two of you retreated to bed after a quick conversation of how your evenings were before devolving into other topics, like what the week ahead had in store, restaurants you two should visit sometime, new boutiques and bakeries you’ve been hoping to explore- little chats that hold more meaning as the days roll by.

During it all, there was an undeniable heaviness to the conversation that made it slightly uncomfortable. Wriothesley cannot remove the memory of how you tried to push him away and you cannot forget the shocked look in his eyes. The more you picture it, the guiltier you feel, heart sinking in your chest.

You thought that it was what Wriothesley wanted: more space from you, an opportunity to breathe without you overwhelming his space.

So why do you feel so bad about respecting his wishes?

“What a lovely view!” You exclaim excitedly, running toward a patch on the grass that sits a few metres away from a nearby beach, the sound of waves meeting shore a soothing lullaby and a testament to how calm the day is. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you’re out on a picnic with the love of your life.

“Here’s a nice spot to set up, what do you think, Wriothesley?” You ask.

“Sounds amazing, darling,” he responds, setting down the picnic basket when you’ve laid out the blanket. You sit down with an unglamorous huff, leaning back onto your hands to let the morning sun soak into your features.

Morning picnics were one of yours and Wriothesley’s favourite date ideas. The best time to be together was before the sun would rise to its highest peak, bearing hot sunrays that make everything uncomfortable for everyone. Fontaine’s sun is never merciful either, which is why the nation is perfect for diving and all other water-related activities, but when you are simply walking around, it becomes rather suffocating.

The Fortress of Meropide’s administrator takes a seat beside you and you indulge by resting your head on his shoulder, hoping that he isn’t uncomfortable under your touch. The dark-haired hasn’t shaken you off yet, so you keep resting against him.

“How did you discover this place?” You ask.

“Siora told me of it, said that a passenger on the aquabus was talking to her about it. She thought that it sounded like a delightful place to take you to,” he answers and you can’t help but smile, fiddling with your fingers.

Melusines and their wholesome ways. You’ll find a way to thank Siora later. “How kind of her and how fortunate for us.”

“I take it you like it here then?”

“I love it,” you tuck your legs closer to your chest and Wriothesley leans back on his arms as well, letting your hands rest beside each other as the sea continues to crash on the shore before you. There are seals resting nearby too, ships pass by here and there, and seagulls stop near the two of you before flying away, but the only thing that matters to Wriothesley is you leaning on his shoulder.

Sharing with him the breakfast sandwiches you packed, no words are exchanged, merely the sound of waves crashing against the shore occupy the tranquil silence. It’s not until a few minutes later that Wriothesley speaks. 

“Will you be visiting me at the office today?” He asks.

You tear your gaze away from the horizon. “Perhaps. Do you want me to?”

“Would I really be asking if I didn’t?”

“Please, forego the sass, your grace,” you snort and he rolls his eyes, an affectionate smile pulling on his lips. 

“Seriously though, I would like you to. You know how dreary and boring weekends at the prison get, would be much better having you there.”

“Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Is it working?” 

“Maybe,” you mutter, grinning. “Would you like me to bring lunch with me or shall we go find a place to eat?”

“How about takeout? Hey wait, now that I think about it, why didn’t you stay the other day when you brought lunch for me? I would have much rather seen your pretty face than the receptionist’s.”

You ignore the butterflies blooming in your stomach because of his compliment. “An emergency happened just as I reached there. I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it, so I left.”

Confusion shines in his eyes, his expression giving away the cogwork ticking in his brain as he tries to pinpoint what emergency you could be referring to. When the pieces click, his eyes widen a little. “I see. You did the right thing, my love,” he presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“I’ll visit you today,” you whisper, toying with the hem of your clothes as you wait for his response. 

“Amazing. I’m looking forward to it, then”

You stay true to your word, walking down the path you recognise like the back of your hand. The guards need not think twice about welcoming you in, guiding you straight in the direction of Wriothesley’s office. 

Since being with him, you’ve grown less and less afraid of how daunting the Fortress can feel, adapting to the chill knowing that there is someone in there who will set himself ablaze to keep you warm. Yet, today you walk in with apprehension clasped around your ankles, threatening to pull you under with each step. 

It’s ridiculous, you know Wriothesley would never turn you away or shun you, but the mind is the worst enemy and yours can’t stop replaying the conversation you overheard weeks ago. You know Wriothesley could open those heavy doors of his and greet you with something more grim than loving and cast you aside, and you have to hold your breath when the guards knock on your behalf.

Your heart skips a beat when they push open the doors, revealing your husband crouched over his desk, hands mussed in his hair to keep them out of his eyes. He looks up at you and the way a smile manifests on his features is akin to that of fire melting ice, fatigue dissipating as you step inside his office.  

“Hello, dear,” you greet, tone soft and controlled, unlike the thrashing of your gut.

“Hi,” he stands up and takes great strides towards you. Naturally, you open your arms for him; unnaturally, you merely hug him instead of greeting him with a kiss. Wriothesley keeps you locked in his arms as he digs his nose into your neck and you feel the way his eyes flutter close against your skin.

“Long day?”

“Draining too,” he murmurs. 

“Oh dear, we cannot have your grace tired, whatever shall we do!” You gasp overdramatically, clearly poking fun at him because you are perhaps one of the only people who could do so in this entire building. 

The dark-haired accepts it and doesn’t bother to correct your use of formalities. Instead, he retracts his head out of your neck to look at you with hopeful eyes instead. “You could give me a kiss.” 

“Did you do anything today to earn it?”

“I need to earn my kisses now?”

“You should shut up sometimes,” you murmur before placing your hands along his jaw, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He smiles against you, biting back a quip when his hand comes to the base of your neck, holding you against him. You can tell he needed the proximity, judging by his little exhale and the way his shoulders slouch, so you let him take his time and ignore the nagging in your heart.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Wriothesley is losing his mind. He has been since you left the Fortress of Meropide, and was left to freeze in the ache of your lack of affection. A goodbye kiss is customary between you two and when you didn’t give him one before leaving, it felt like a slap to the face. He would have much rather you just slapped him, actually, so what gives? 

You’re not rejecting his advances, but you’re not explicitly initiating anything either. Does that mean he should back off, too? Did he do something to upset you, and if so, when? All this thinking and speculating is making him feel like a pathetic headless chicken who can’t even talk to his spouse-

“-Wait!” You exclaim, just as he was about to grab the knob to the front entrance and step out. Instead, Wriothesley turns around to be greeted by the sigh of you frantically scrambling to him, and his heart can’t help but come alive, silencing his thoughts.

Stopping to a slide before him, he can’t hold back a soft grin. Despite just wrangling out of the claws of sleep, you’re so breathtaking, delicate in the mornings when no one else is around but him. The dark-haired is grateful that only he is able to witness you like this, that you trust him with this vulnerable side of you.

You don’t meet his gaze, eyes pinned to his chest instead. ���Your tie is crooked,” you murmur hands reaching out before he even gets a chance to look down. “Let me help you.”

How can he deny such a kind request of yours? You’re gentle with him, undoing his knot and weaving it together until it looks proper, but Wriothesley couldn’t care what his tie looks like. You could be making a total fool of him and he wouldn’t care, too entranced by your glow to tear his eyes away from you. There’s a little scrunch in your forehead as you concentrate, mouth slightly parted and you’re not oblivious to his gaze either, too familiar with the intensity of it to get shy. 

Finally satisfied with your work, you let go, patting his shoulders and smoothing out any wrinkles in his garment. “There. All done.” 

“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs. 

Wriothesley is expecting a kiss from you, waits for the moment that you’ll rise onto your toes and place a peck on his lips to fill him with some energy for the day. He waits for the familiar feeling of your lips pressing against his, and waits for the rush of adrenaline that your touch always manages to ignite.

Except it never comes, and it hurts most to confess that some part of him preempted this. You step away from him without another word, or kiss, and his heart burns at your retraction, unease fluttering the lining of his stomach when you turn around to retreat into the living room. Wriothesley moves without thinking, a hand coming up to your waist to stop your steps as he forcefully pulls you back to him, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, one far more intense than the ones you usually give this early in the morning. 

You notice the desperation that bleeds from him; a certain fervour uncharacteristic in situations of morning domesticity. 

There’s a bright glimmer of surprise in your eyes when he pulls away, as if he had kissed away all your fatigue and shocked wakefulness into you. 

“Have a good day at work,” you murmur, barely able to choke the words out. 

“I will,” he replies, opening the door. You stay and watch him go, still trying to recover your breath over his passionate display of affection. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day his racing thoughts get to him is the eighth day of this strange treatment of yours. At this point, he’s become insatiable, barely able to hold it together as you remain in the centre of his world. He wants your affection again, he wants your displays of love, he wants you near him so badly that it’s driving him up the walls of the Fortress. 

It’s irrational for him, a grown man, to skirt around his problems as if he was a teenager. For some reason, Wriothesley has no issue locking up and containing some of Fontaine’s most dangerous criminals, yet when it comes to you, he becomes a lovesick fool who craves everything his partner can give. 

You still are not initiating any displays of affection, keeping to yourself unless it is him acting first. 

But after being locked in his own study for hours, unable to distract himself from you when he was really meant to be reading some new court documents from Neuvillette, he snaps. Pushing his chair out with more force than necessary, he searches for you in the living room, where you are curled up in the corner, reading.

“Is everything alright?” Wriothesley’s interruption shocks you, and you jolt your head up to meet his gaze. 

You are met with the sight of him leaned against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “Why wouldn’t they be?” You ask, not letting your gaze linger for too long on his arms before sitting up just a little straighter.

“Dunno. Just double checking.”

“Okay,” you hum softly, nodding. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” How could you switch this up on him so quickly?

“Yeah.”

“Fine, amazing, just dandy.” 

You raise an eyebrow at your husband, not truly believing him but you decide it’s best not to press on. “Alright… but if anything is wrong, don’t be afraid to tell me.” You go back to your book and your hair falls perfectly in front of your face to hide it from him.

Wriothesley shifts his weight from one leg to the other, trying to find the words to speak up and ask why you were acting so weird. It’d been two hours and twenty-four minutes (and counting) since you last saw him when he disappeared into his study, were you not concerned for him in the slightest? Sure you dropped off a plate of fruit and refilled his teapot with hot water, but normally your check-ins would be a little more frequent, and a little more encouraging than just a morale boost through food. 

Where was the cheek kiss you always gave him before you left?

Deciding not to press on any further, your husband sighs before leaving, his arms and heart feeling emptier than usual. You are only in the next room, but why do you feel like you’re on the other side of Teyvat?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day Wriothesley snaps is the day Sigewinne asks him to be nicer to the guards of the Fortress because his foul mood is darkening the already glum prison. His subordinates must have sent her knowing that he couldn’t possibly lash out at her, and they were right, but she really didn’t need to comment on the way his veins have been more prominent recently, or how creases are forming on his forehead from how hard he’s been scowling. To top it off, she said that he should delay the appearance of wrinkles for as long as necessary, because there’s a good chance they’ll come earlier than he wants.

He’s not even a day over thirty, and yet, he is being reprimanded for ‘ageing’. But he knows the problem, and he’ll be damned if he lets it drag out for another day. 

“Welcome home, baby-” your greeting is cut off unceremoniously by your husband, who practically drags you into his embrace, closing you in with no space for you to breathe or move. Your cries of alarm are muffled against his chest, and he easily picks you up before striding the path to your shared bedroom. There, he all but throws you onto the bed, your neck resting on the pillows as he climbs on after you. “Wriothesley?”

He shushes you.

“What-”

“-I need this,” he wraps around you like a vine and breathes you in with the fervour of a man starved. 

When you try to shuffle away from under him, or at the very least sit up, Wriothesley groans, borderlining a growl as he tightens his arms around your middle. You don’t question or disobey his wants, merely sinking your head into the pillows in understanding that he must have had a particularly rough day. 

So instead of repelling his touch, you give in and let a hand snake up to his hair, playing with it as you let Wriothesley lay atop you. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders melts away, and the way you’re scratching his scalp is enticing him to rest, except there is a barrier keeping him from reaching a haven of dreams and he won’t rest peacefully until he’s broken through it.

“Why have you been so distant lately?” He garbles, voice a lot shakier from the usual stoic Wriothesley that you are used to.

You heard him loud and clear, but a pathetic ‘pardon?’ slips past your lips.

“I said, why have you been so distant lately?” This time, he’s firm, determination seeping into his tone as a hand of his sneaks out from underneath you to search for your hand. After patting around, he finds it and holds it gently, raising it to press a long kiss to your knuckles. 

It’s silent. You don’t have anything to say in response and it’s past the grace period where you can give an excuse and make it sound like the truth, and Wriothesley looks up at you with expectant eyes. There’s hurt in them but as much as you’d like to mend the heartbroken expression of his, admitting the truth is difficult, because it has eaten you alive, gnawing at your heart for days on end. 

“I…I don’t have it in me to tell you,” you murmur quietly, looking away and slipping your hand out of his, but Wriothesley is tired of this dance of yours and chases after your touch, this time roughly grasping your wrists. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you rooted. 

“I didn’t do anything, did I?” He asks, raising your hand to his cheek. 

Your voice is quiet when you confess. “If I said you didn’t, I’d be lying.” 

The dark-haired stiffens. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you cough.

“No, Y/n, be honest with me here.”

“You’re going to laugh at me, or find me ridiculous.” Wriothesley’s heart clenches at your admittance, frowning at the fractures of insecurity piercing you like glass, but most of all, he hates that he can’t stop you from feeling this way. “I thought what I did was what you wanted.”  

“Which was?” 

“Some distance, just- not me crowding your personal space all the time.”

“Why would I ever want that?”

“I can get overbearing sometimes, and I don’t know, just assumed that would annoy you.”

“You’re not telling me everything, I can tell something happened to make you feel this way. Please, darling, just tell me the truth. I promise you I won’t judge or think differently of you.” 

You sigh. “I… I overheard you and Monsieur Neuvillette the other day- when I dropped off lunch. You said that my affection was sometimes too much, and that I was making you uncomfortable, so I thought that you wouldn’t want me to be around you anymore. I didn’t want to drive you away so I, y’know…”

Confusion fills him stomach like water and it takes a few moments before it hits him, the memory coming back to him. You heard his conversation out of context- he wasn’t complaining about you, no, quite the opposite, but it just seems that you weren’t there for the parts that mattered most, and now you can’t even bear to look him in the eye. 

“Honey, please look at me,” his voice thins into a vulnerable whisper that pleads for you to glance his way so you can see how he is head over heels in love with you. 

When your gaze finally meets his, he almost cracks under the weight of your sadness, and it dawns upon him that you can’t feel the adoration he holds for you, dripping from his heart into your hands. You can’t see the mountains he’d overcome just to end the day resting in your arms. You don’t know the extent he would go just to win your love.

It’s a fact that kicks at his knees, shuns him down and bruises his heart. If the Fortress of Meropide has taught him anything, it’s that there is no point holding your feelings back from living fully. There is no point to contain the human heart that has every desire to live with others, he has seen the sorrow of prisoners saying goodbye to loved ones, and how they dwell over words they should have said. Even his own time as a prisoner taught him so, because everytime he sat behind those bars, the faces of people he should have been more open to kept him awake at night. 

Wriothesley would rather drown in primordial water than see you, the most important person in his life, hurting over his own negligence. You have been feeling half-loved because of him and he doesn’t know how he can make it up to you.

“You misunderstand. I wasn’t talking about you negatively, I was talking to Neuvillette about how loved you made me feel that way, and how grateful I am to have someone like you as my partner,” he confesses earnestly, eyes pleading for you to believe him.

You blink at him, comprehending his words carefully. “Really?” You ask.

“I would never think otherwise,” he whispers.

As if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, a smile pulls at your lips and suddenly, a laugh spills from them, causing your expression to scrunch up with joy, looking the most lively Wriothesley has seen you in a while. He laughs with you too, just a little. 

“I’m sorry,” you confess through dying fits of laughter. “I shouldn’t have assumed like that, how stupid.”

He shakes his head, “you have nothing to apologise for, you’re not at fault. But I beg you, never hide things like this from me again and tell me whenever something bothers you.”

You nod, “I will.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Never ever think that I want to be away from you,” Wriothesley grumbles, hiding himself in the crook of your neck. “That was the worst week of my life.” 

“Sorry for putting you through all that.”

“Stop apologising.” He demands. “Just, no more secrets.” 

“I love you, Wriothesley.” 

He sighs shakily, relief tangible in his tone. “I love you more.”

A damp patch forms on your collar bone right where his tears would fall, and you place a kiss on his forehead for each drop you feel on your skin. There is still much to discuss, much to mend between the two of you, but his hands run along your skin like he’s trying to memorise and mark you, so you never doubt his devotion again. 

*sighs and puts hands on hips* i don't really like that ending either so don't judge lol

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[societyfolklore]

The Cost of Access

Title: The Cost of Access

Pairing: Congressman! Bucky Barnes x Entrepreneur!Female Reader

Summary:  At a high-stakes D.C. fundraiser. You’re there to protect your start-up from political threats, not to play the donor game but Bucky surprises you. He sees past the surface, speaks your language, and for one charged night, the two of you find something raw, reckless, and unexpectedly sincere behind closed doors.

Word Count:  3.6k

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI, SMUT, Unprotected sex, mirror sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), light dominance, light choking (hand on throat), champagne-fueled decisions, emotional tension, slight political themes, post-sex awkwardness

A/N:  Not a  Thunderbolts* fic… I will be making sure this space stays spoiler free for a few weeks since I don’t want to spoil for anyone until they get the chance.  

You weren't lobbying. Not really.

You were there to make sure your startup, barely past Series B funding and already on the radar of corporate predators, didn’t get chewed up and swallowed whole under the guise of 'infrastructure reform.' D.C. had a way of wrapping its greed in clean bills and smiling handshakes. You weren’t about to watch your work get buried under a competitor’s line item, or worse, co-opted by a conglomerate that didn’t understand the first thing about what you’d built.

Your company was scrappy, efficient, and bold, everything the legacy players hated. And you had no intention of letting a single careless vote collapse the years of sweat equity and innovation you’d bled for. You didn’t want favours. You wanted protection. An understanding. Leverage, if you were lucky.

But the fundraiser was unbearable.

Everyone either talked at you like you were some high-yield asset ripe for exploitation, or worse, like a walking checkbook with tits. You’d worn a sharp dress, tailored, matte black, the neckline modest, the slit at your thigh anything but, and still you felt like a prize pig at auction, trotted out for admiration, smiled at by men who never once asked the name of your company.

You played the part. Sipped the champagne. Nodded politely. It was exhausting, watching the glittering masks slip when they thought you weren’t worth the effort. And still, you stayed. Because someone had to protect what you’d built, and tonight that someone was you.

You were just deciding how quickly you could leave without burning too many bridges when you saw him.

Congressman Barnes.

Polished shoes. Classic black tuxedo. Crisp white shirt. Bowtie slightly askew, like he wanted to appear relaxed without actually letting his guard down. His posture was clean but coiled, all quiet control and unreadable calm. He gave you a small, acknowledging nod across the room, like he recognized the same bored exhaustion on your face that he felt in his bones.

He looked about as bored as you did.

Then his campaign manager leaned in, whispered something in his ear, you saw the shift in his shoulders, the faint sigh. You felt yourself groan inwardly. Another political animal sending their candidate your way, sniffing around to see what you were willing to pay to keep yourself ahead of the pack.

You’d seen the type. Hell, you’d dated the type. They smiled like wolves, hands warm and eyes calculating.

But Barnes didn’t start with a smile. He didn’t lead with a pitch, or some tired attempt at charm. Instead:

“You run that adaptive interface platform, right? For small logistics firms?”

You blinked, thrown slightly off balance. “That’s… oddly specific. Most people just call it ‘some tech thing.’”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Genuine. Quietly pleased with himself.

““My campaign manager said I should try being more charming. I figured knowing what you actually do was a decent start.”

That earned him a raised brow and a small sip of your drink. “So this is you charming me?”

“I’m trying,” he admitted, voice low as he stepped in just enough to share your air, but not enough to crowd. “I don’t like asking for money. I’d rather earn what I get.”

You let out a soft huff of a laugh, the corner of your mouth tugging up. “That makes two of us. Everyone here’s just charming enough to take your money, none of them want to hear why you felt the need to offer it in the first place.”

His brow arched with quiet interest. “And why do you?”

You hesitated, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “Because I’ve watched too many people like me, too many sharp, brilliant startups, get crushed under policy written by people who’ve never actually built anything. I have money now, sure. But the world’s... complicated. One bill, one amendment, one line in the wrong place, and everything collapses.”

He nodded slowly, expression shifting from polite to something more real. “Yeah,” he said. “Feels like it’s all turning into some elaborate game lately. Everyone pointing fingers, selling favors, whoring themselves out for donations. It’s about who you shake hands with, not who you help. And that’s not what I signed up for.”

You tilted your head. “So what did you sign up for?”

Bucky looked at you then, really looked. Blue eyes steady and piercing, the kind of gaze that cut through all your practiced armour and found the person underneath. There was no sales pitch in that look, no calculation. Just something honest. Something that made your throat tighten. “Just trying to make sure life’s better for people who don’t have the time or power to fight for it themselves.”

For the first time that evening, you felt your defences slip.

You stayed put.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~

It wasn’t supposed to happen. But the elevator ride had been quiet and charged, a weight of unspoken tension thick in the air between you. The kind that buzzed in the bones and made your fingers twitch with anticipation. He’d asked if you wanted to see the view from the top floor. Just the skyline, he'd said. Just five minutes. You'd known the invitation carried more than one meaning, and you'd said yes anyway.

The elevator climbed too slowly and too fast all at once. Neither of you said much, just sidelong glances, soft exhales, the space between you alive with heat. When the doors opened, he stepped aside to let you pass, hand brushing your lower back with a quiet confidence that sent a bolt of want through your spine.

The skyline passed in a blur. You vaguely remembered the glittering lights of the Capitol, the outline of the Washington Monument, but mostly, you remembered the click of his keycard, the soft whoosh of the suite door, and the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

He didn’t say a word as you stepped inside. Just followed, silent and watchful. You felt the warmth of him behind you, the weight of his gaze tracing the bare skin of your shoulders. The brush of his knuckles down your spine made you shiver, and then you turned, and he looked at you like a man starving.

Like he'd wanted to taste you since the moment he saw you across the room.

"You still want to see the view?" he murmured, voice deeper now, rougher around the edges. You didn’t answer with words. Just stepped toward him, fingers tugging the lapel of his tux with a boldness that surprised even you.

He kissed you like he meant to burn the memory into your skin. Like he was starving and you were the only thing that would satisfy. Champagne lingered on your tongue, on his lips, between the clink of teeth and the soft drag of breath.

And when he backed you toward the table, fingers already skimming the edge of your thigh, you knew, this wasn’t politics anymore. This was something reckless. Something raw. Something that had nothing to do with influence or strategy.

Just the way he needed you. And in that moment, you let yourself want him right back- recklessly, breathlessly, without second-guessing the consequences.

The taste of champagne still lingered on your tongue as his lips brushed the sensitive skin at your throat, sending a fresh shiver down your spine and pulling you back into the heat between you. The click of your heels echoing against marble as he backed you toward the suite’s glossy dining table,. Your breath hitched when he slid your dress up your thighs with practiced ease.

“Didn’t peg you for the type to soak through your panties just from a little political banter,” he murmured, crouching as he tugged your panties down your thighs, eyes flicking up with that same smirk. “You gonna let me see what all that sharp talk was hiding?”

You rolled your eyes at the line, but the breath caught in your throat when his fingers slid through your folds, spreading you open with reverent, maddening patience. The pads of his fingers were calloused, warm, utterly unhurried. They moved like he’d done this before, but never quite like this. Like you were different. Like he wanted to learn you, not just make you moan.

“Oh, fuck, ” you gasped, hips twitching at the contact, thighs trying and failing to stay still as that first spark of sensation bled into a full-body ache.

He watched intently, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, focused like you were a puzzle he already knew the solution to but wanted to work through anyway, piece by trembling piece. One finger traced your entrance, then two pressed inside you, slow and deep, curling just right. The stretch was maddening and perfect, your walls clenching around him in a greedy flutter.

You whimpered, grinding down on his hand, shameless in the way you chased his touch. The heel of your shoe slipped a little on the polished floor, but he didn’t let you go, just steadied you with his free hand, palm flat on your thigh.

“Look at you,” he murmured, half to himself. “Could ruin me on the floor of a damn hotel suite and not even break a sweat.”

He brought the slick digits to his mouth, sucked them clean with a groan that went straight to your core, his tongue slow and deliberate like he was savoring the taste.

“Sweetest thing I’ve had in weeks,” he said, voice low, lazy, wicked, before picking you up and placing you gently on the edge of the table like you belonged there. Then he sank to his knees between your legs with deliberate care, hands sliding under your thighs to spread you open wider.

He looked up once, gaze molten with hunger and reverence, then lowered his head between your legs.

His tongue flicked through your folds with slow, luxurious precision. Lips sealed around your clit like a man on a mission, like the night didn’t end until you were wrecked and trembling, laid bare for him in every way.

You gripped the table edge hard enough to bruise, head tilted back as a moan slipped from your lips, loud and unashamed. Champagne warmth buzzed through your bloodstream, lowering every inhibition, making you shameless. His mouth was hot and relentless, tongue circling your clit with infuriating expertise, teasing and coaxing until your thighs were shaking.

"Bucky, oh my god- " you gasped, voice catching when he sealed his mouth tighter around you and sucked. The sound that left you was raw, desperate, the kind of noise that filled a luxury suite and made your face flush with heat.

He moaned into you like your taste was heaven, hands tightening under your thighs as he buried his face deeper. His nose bumped your mound, tongue flattening and stroking in long, slow passes. When he shifted the angle, dragging the tip against that spot, just right- your body jolted.

"There," you breathed, grinding into his face. "Fuck, right there, don't stop."

He didn’t. If anything, he doubled down. He groaned, one hand releasing your thigh only to slip between your legs again. Two fingers pressed in, firm and slow, curling in rhythm with his tongue until your whole body was a tight coil of want.

Your legs tried to close around him, thighs locking reflexively, but he held you open with a rough, growled "Let me have it. Let go for me, sweetheart. Come on."

You shattered.

Pleasure built like a storm inside you, cresting fast and hard until it snapped, tearing through you with a raw, blistering heat that left your legs shaking and your breath stuttering. Your body locked for one suspended moment, every nerve on fire, before the aftershocks rippled through you- deep, pulsing waves that made you moan, helpless and high on the intensity. Your hips jerked, your back arched, a high whine leaving your lips as his mouth stayed on you through every pulse. You heard your name tumble from your mouth in a breathless, broken cry.

Even then, he didn’t stop. He licked you through it, gentle now, tongue tracing soft, lazy patterns until you were squirming from overstimulation, a laugh-sob catching in your throat.

He finally pulled back, lips glistening, breathing hard like he was the one who’d just come.

"Told you," he said, voice wrecked and low, kissing your inner thigh. "Sweetest thing I've had in weeks."

He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes heavy-lidded as he looked down at you. Then he reached for your dress, the fabric bunching under his fingers as he eased it over your hips and up your body. You lifted your arms, dazed and pliant, letting him strip it away and drop it to the floor with quiet finality. He stepped back just long enough to shrug out of his shirt, fingers popping buttons open one by one before he pulled it free of his shoulders and let it fall.

You watched him, heart racing. His tie came off next. Then his belt. His slacks hit the floor with a soft rustle, and you caught your breath as he stepped out of them, bare and beautiful and hard for you.

He circled behind you, the heat of his bare chest pressing into your back. His hands slid over your waist, up your ribs, fingers splaying across your stomach. He kissed your shoulder, then your neck, slow, reverent, greedy. You tilted your head to the side, gave him space to devour the skin there. His cock nudged the curve of your ass, thick and hot and insistent.

"Come here," he rasped, walking you forward until the bed met your thighs. He turned you slightly, guiding you to the center of the mattress, facing the mirror across from it.

You leaned forward slightly, bracing yourself on your palms as he settled behind you. One hand slid between your thighs to guide himself as the other spread across your hip, grounding you. You felt the blunt head of his cock press against your entrance, and then, with one deep, slow thrust, he pushed into you.

Your mouth fell open, a moan tearing free as your walls stretched to accommodate him. Your eyes fluttered shut at the fullness, the thick, perfect pressure making your knees tremble. Behind you, Bucky groaned low and broken, hands tightening on your hips.

"Fuck, baby… you're so tight," he hissed through his teeth, voice strained with restraint.

You couldn’t find words. Just the burn, the ache, the pulse of pleasure radiating outward as he began to move, slow, dragging thrusts that had your eyes rolling back with every stroke. You heard the slick sound of your bodies meeting, felt the heat of his chest as he leaned in closer, his breath warm on your shoulder.

Then he pulled you upright, chest flush against your back, his hand sliding up to grip your throat with just enough pressure to hold you steady. The angle shifted, his cock spearing deeper as your spine arched and your legs widened in instinct. Your head fell back against his shoulder with a broken moan.

"Look," he rasped, turning your chin so your eyes met the mirror. "Look at me fucking you."

Your mouth parted as you watched the obscene beauty of it, his body pressed to yours, hips rolling up into you with power and purpose, your breasts moving with every thrust, that delicate chain swinging at your collarbone. His arm banded across your waist, anchoring you in place.

He rocked into you again, slow but deliberate, his breath ragged as he muttered, "God, you feel good, so fucking good."

You could only whimper in reply, eyelids fluttering, hips pushing back to meet him as slick pleasure gathered low in your belly again, tighter with every perfect stroke. Your eyes closed, breathing hard.

“Come on, open your eyes. Watch how good you look taking me,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “How perfect you look falling apart.”

You couldn’t look away.

Your gaze met your reflection, flushed skin, parted lips, the look of raw pleasure on your face as his cock filled you with slow, deliberate precision, each thrust deep and controlled, wringing gasps from your throat and arching your back with every stroke. Your fingers scrabbled behind you, finding purchase on his metal arm, nails digging into the vibranium plating as you gasped.

"Harder," you whispered, breath fogging the mirror. "Please, Bucky, "

He growled, the sound low and rough in your ear, and lost the last of his composure. Letting a go of the hold on you neck. 

Bucky bent you over the bed, hand gripping your waist like he meant to leave fingerprints, thrusting rougher now, deeper. Each stroke punched a moan from your lips, loud and wrecked. The slap of skin meeting skin echoed through the suite.

Your name fell from his mouth in a strained, reverent groan as your walls clenched around him and you came with a sob, body jerking under the weight of it. The pleasure was blinding, your muscles trembling, your thighs shaking as you cried out, caught somewhere between ecstasy and surrender.

Bucky's grip tightened on your hips, a guttural noise tearing from his throat. "Fuck, fuck, doll, that's it, " he gasped, hips stuttering.

He snapped forward with one last deep, punishing thrust and came with a harsh grunt, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you. You could feelTitle: The Cost of Access the heat of it, the fullness, and it only made your body tighten again in response. His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, breath hot and ragged against your spine.

Neither of you moved for a long, suspended moment, just the sound of breathing, the lingering echo of skin on skin, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the room. His hands softened on your hips, thumbs brushing soothingly across the skin he'd just gripped so fiercely. He leaned in, kissed the slope of your back, slow and reverent.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. The silence said everything.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~

You woke before he did.

The suite was too quiet. Just the hush of morning traffic filtering up from the city streets, the hum of the minibar fridge, and the rhythmic, steady sound of his breathing. You lay still for a moment, letting the soft warmth of his body behind you linger before reality crept in through the gauzy light.

Sunlight spilled across the hotel floor in perfect rectangles. The room still carried the humid trace of last night- skin-warmed sheets, the musky whisper of sex clinging to the air, and the soft, fading note of his cologne drifting lazily through the quiet. You slid out from beneath the sheet slowly, quietly, careful not to disturb him. But before you moved too far, you glanced back over your shoulder.

His hair was a mess, dark strands falling over his forehead in soft, unruly waves. One arm was flung lazily over the pillow, the other tucked beneath it, his vibranium arm, glinting faintly in the morning light. His face was relaxed, softened in sleep in a way you hadn’t seen the night before. Vulnerable. Real.

You stared for a beat longer than you meant to, throat tight. Then you turned away and stepped lightly onto the floor.

You found your dress crumpled near the foot of the bed. Your shoes tucked half under a chair. Your phone facedown on the nightstand. No panties. You searched briefly, under the bed, beneath a cushion, and came up empty. Of course.

You didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t leave a note. Just smoothed your dress down, slipped your heels back on, and left with your hair a mess and your thighs sticky with the night before.

You didn’t want to be seen as the kind of woman who bought access with sex, who traded power and control for one night of heat and champagne-clouded recklessness. That wasn’t who you were.

And he… well, you weren’t sure if he’d think he sold it. If he’d wake and think you were just another wealthy donor slipping out before the illusion shattered.

You’d hovered for a moment near the minibar, fingertips grazing the notepad left beside the phone. You’d even picked up the pen. A part of you had thought about leaving a check, not for the good time, not for the sex, but because, for one brief, dangerous moment, you’d hoped he was the kind of man worth investing in. Someone who meant what he said, who could actually hold the line when others bent. Someone who might fight for the things that mattered.

But your hand had stilled.

What would he think if he found that? That you’d paid him for it? That he was just like the rest of them, bought and fucked and forgotten?

He wasn’t a whore. No matter what people thought of politicians.

You set the pen down.

Better to leave. You could make a donation later. Quietly. Through the proper channels. When it wouldn’t feel like an apology.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~

You were halfway through your third coffee of the morning, hunched over a stack of budgets and investor notes when the intern knocked twice on your office door before pushing it open.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” she said, holding out a slim envelope. “This came by courier earlier. It didn’t look like it was office mail.”

You frowned, setting your mug down and brushing your hair back. The envelope was plain, unmarked. Heavy cardstock. Your name printed neatly in the center. No return address.

You waited until the door closed again before sliding your thumb beneath the seal.

Inside: a familiar scrap of lace. Your panties, folded neatly, still carrying the faintest trace of his cologne and something unmistakably you. Your breath hitched when your fingers brushed the fabric, your cheeks flushing hot.

And a note. Typed. Crisp cardstock. No letterhead, no signature, but the message was clear. Unmistakably him.

‘We’ll finish what we started.’

Just beneath the line, in faint pen ink, scrawled as if added last second, in a hand you didn’t quite expect to look so neat, was one more sentence:

‘Next time, stay for breakfast.’

[xuexing-lumi]

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞'𝐬 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 + 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐭 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 (𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬) Pt.1

This isn’t your average love reading. This is about the one, the soul who already exists in your energetic field, even if they haven’t stepped into your life yet.(Spoiler: yes, but not in the way you think).

Close your eyes, take a deep breathe and pick your piles.

💌 Let’s dive into your connections

𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 1 𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 2 𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 3

🌟𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 1 : Birthday Cake in a Pink Stamp

Let’s start with the birthday cake. A birthday cake represents celebration, a personal milestone, a moment in time where we honor someone's existence. It is a symbol of arrival, of recognition, and of love made visible. In the context of a soulmate reading, this suggests that your connection is something that is meant to be honored, celebrated, and remembered. But more than that, it carries the vibration of divine timing. You don’t eat birthday cake every day, you wait for the right moment. That moment arrives once a year. This means that the contact with your soulmate is destined to happen at a very specific spiritual “birthday”, an energetic checkpoint that marks a new chapter for both of you.

The cake is also layered. Sweet. Baked with care. It’s not a fast food. It’s not a rushed meal. A birthday cake is lovingly prepared, decorated, and shared. Similarly, this relationship is one that takes time to build. It’s made of layersof past lives, spiritual contracts, karmic resolutions, emotional experiences. You will not arrive at each other half-baked. You are being prepared with intention, and when you meet, the experience will be both nourishing and celebratory.

But then comes the pink stamp. The pink colour represents your heart chakra. The pink color amplifies this message with tones of softness, femininity, romance, healing, innocence, and emotional sincerity. The combination of a birthday cake and a pink stamp suggests this connection is already written, already destined, and already in motion, but it hasn’t been delivered yet. The stamp is on it. The letter is in the post. The universe is delivering it. But divine mail is never tracked and it arrives when the soul is home.

Part 1: How Does Pile 1 Contact Their Soulmate?

(The Emperor, Page of Swords, Ace of Pentacles)

The Emperor: You’re most likely to make contact with your soulmate through a space that’s structured such as work, academia, an institution, or an environment where rules, responsibility, or order are emphasized. This isn't a chaotic or accidental meeting; it happens when you're either stepping into your own authority or are seen as someone who radiates competence and grounded power. There’s a sense that you either are the leader or you attract someone who is. The contact is forged not through vulnerability but through presence and your ability to command attention quietly and confidently. They may first notice your discipline, your sense of purpose, or the way you seem composed in a space where others may waver. There’s also a divine masculine frequency here, regardless of gender its an energy that stands tall, protects, or leads. Your soulmate may be in a role of mentorship, teaching, leadership, or even a uniformed profession or, you may embody those traits for them.

➤ Scenario Possibility: You first catch their attention in a space where everyone else is trying to blend in or follow the crowd, but something about you like your stillness, your focus, your quiet confidence that makes you stand out. You don’t need to shout to be seen. They notice how you move with purpose, and something about your energy makes them pause. Whether you're presenting an idea, managing a project, or simply holding your ground when others hesitate, it’s that quiet strength that begins the invisible thread of interest between you both.

Page of swords: Your first interaction likely begins with a flicker of curiosity, something about them catches your eye, and it lingers in your mind longer than expected. This card leans heavily into digital or intellectual realms, suggesting the initial contact may happen online through social media, a DM, a forum, a comment thread, or even a shared class or webinar. You might not speak right away, but you watch. There’s an air of quiet observation, like each of you is trying to figure the other out from a distance before deciding whether to approach. It’s the mental spark that lights the match here through a post, a quote, an idea, or even a shared opinion that makes you pause and think, "Wait… that was sharp. That was different." One of you reaches out, not with grand romantic gestures, but with a message that feels more like, “You made me think. I had to say something.” You may share interests in something niche, geeky, intellectual, or offbeat like philosophy, books, art critiques, even memes. It begins informally but sticks because the mental engagement feels electric.

➤ Scenario Possibility: You come across something they’ve written or posted maybe it’s a thoughtful caption, an insightful comment, or a niche reference that hits too close to your own interests. Your reaction isn’t, “They’re hot,” but rather, “They’re interesting.” You end up following them or messaging with something casual but intentional, like, “Hey, that post made my brain buzz,” or “Your take on that hit so hard.” YADA YADA YADA. You weren’t looking for anything, but now you’re thinking about them more than you expected. The conversation is light at first ideas, questions, banter, but there’s a tone underneath that both of you start to feel: This is different.

Ace of Pentacles: There’s also a strong theme of sincerity. This moment, it feels real. Like a foundation being poured. Something is offered without pressure, but with intention. It’s a gesture that says, “This could be something. Let’s see where it goes.” The relationship begins to move out of the hypothetical and into the physical. It's not just “vibes” anymore and it’s coffee dates, shared calendars, phone calls, schedules that shift so time can be made for each other.

➤ Scenario Possibility: After a string of meaningful online or intellectual conversations, one of you finally says, “Let’s take this offline.” It could be as simple as a message that says, “Want to grab a coffee sometime?” or “I’d love to hear more about that project in person.” There’s a natural shift from thinking and talking to showing up and doing. Maybe they offer to help you move, attend an event with you, or show up to support something you’re working on. It feels low-pressure but unmistakably real.

🌟𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 2 : Bouquet in a Peach Stamp

A bouquet is not something you make for yourself. It’s something you give. It represents a conscious offering of affection, of beauty, of intention. Unlike wildflowers that grow freely, a bouquet is carefully selected, curated, and wrapped with meaning. There is effort behind it, emotion behind it, and most of all the hope behind it. It’s the kind of thing someone gives when they want to say “I thought of you. I hope this reaches you. I want to be seen by you.” In a soulmate context, this bouquet is likely not your first interaction with them and it comes after something, after waiting, after reflection, or even after distance. It could represent a moment of reunion, the healing of something unspoken, or an act of vulnerability. This is the kind of love that isn’t explosive or chaotic, but chosen, day by day.The stamp indicates that this act of love or this connection is being sent out, carried across time and distance, and it is meant to arrive softly. The universe is delivering something tender here and not loud, not urgent, but quiet and true.

Part 1: How Does Pile 2 Contact Their Soulmate?

(The High Priestess, The Devil, and the Nine of Pentacles)

The High Priestess: the high priestess says the first contact may not even be physical or verbal and it may happen intuitively. You might dream of them before you meet. You may feel a strange pull to someone you’ve never spoken to, or keep catching their name, their birthdate, or songs that remind you of their energy. The High Priestess is you in your most psychic, private, emotionally aware self. You don’t approach them directly and you sense them. You may receive downloads about who they are.

➤ Scenario Possibility: You're sitting in a coffee shop, journaling or reading, and you suddenly feel someone looking at you. You look up with brief eye contact, a flicker of something unexplainable, and they look away. Nothing is said, but your entire body lights up with a sense of recognition. You don’t talk that day. You don’t need to. You both felt it.

The Devil: the devil adds a sharp contrast and suggests that the way you actually reach out to your soulmate will involve a deep gravitational pull. There may be obsession, temptation, lust, and the kind of chemistry that scares you. This could be someone you tried to avoid, someone you told yourself not to want, but you do. The Devil shows that the soul contact could happen through triggers, especially those related to desire, control, or fear. You contact them when you confront your shadows. This might be someone you meet during a moment of personal struggle, when your boundaries are tested, or when you’re facing patterns you thought you outgrew. You might feel bound to them before you ever speak. Your first contact could be emotionally overwhelming or addictive in nature.

➤ Scenario Possibility: You meet them at a party, or in a work setting where you’re not “supposed” to feel what you feel. There’s tension. Prolonged eye contact. A flirtation you try to brush off. But it lingers. You can’t stop thinking about them afterwards wondering why they got under your skin so easily. You try to suppress it, but the temptation always returns.

The Nine of Pentacles: This card shows that you truly contact your soulmate when you’re standing in your power, feeling self-sufficient, abundant, radiant. Unlike the Devil's pull or the High Priestess’s subtle signals, the Nine of Pentacles is conscious, embodied confidence. You don’t chase, you attract. Your contact is initiated not through force, but by being seen as someone who knows their worth. You might post something online that draws their attention. You might walk into a room glowing from within, and they finally approach or maybe you finally decide you're no longer afraid of being seen. That’s when the interaction actually begins. You’ve been in the same orbit long enough. Now it’s time to meet.

➤ Scenario Possibility: You’re at an event or somewhere public looking beautiful, dressed in something that makes you feel powerful, having worked hard on your healing and independence. You’re not looking for anyone, but you catch their attention. This time, they walk over. “I feel like I’ve seen you before,” they say.

🌟𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 3 : Butterfly in a Baby Pink Stamp

The butterfly is perhaps the most iconic symbol of transformation, rebirth, and soul evolution. But in this image, it’s not flying freely in a field, it’s enclosed inside a stamp, and the stamp itself is baby pink. This suggests that your soulmate journey is one of tender awakening. You (or your person) may have undergone a deep, painful transformation, something like the emotional cocoon that forces you to shed your past self. This is not a casual kind of change. It's the kind of soul journey where you die metaphorically and are reborn as someone new. But what makes this imagery unique is the tone of it is baby pink, which is a color of sweetness, softness, emotional innocence, and renewed hope. Where other connections may be heavy or magnetic or karmic, Pile 3’s connection is healing. It's the love that comes after the war. It's the feeling of discovering that gentleness can still exist after chaos. This is a soulmate who doesn’t arrive to complete you, but to mirror who you’ve become after you survived yourself.

Part 1: How Does Pile 3 Contact Their Soulmate?

(Two of Cups, King of Cups, and Six of Swords)

Two of Cups: The Two of Cups shows that the first contact is based on an unspoken understanding that you are meant for each other, even if you don’t yet know why or how. This is love at first recognition, not necessarily love at first sight. You may meet your soulmate in an emotionally intimate environment through a conversation that feels instantly comforting, vulnerable, or strangely safe. The Two of Cups isn't about dramatic entrances.It's the beginning of someone truly seeing you not just for who you are, but who you’re becoming.

➤ Scenario Possibility:You meet them at a small gathering, not expecting anything magical. You’re sitting beside them, maybe talking about something light like art, movies, life and then something shifts. Their voice steadies. Your gaze lingers. There's a mutual pause. (like a spiritual contact)

The King of Cups: This card shows that your connection doesn’t begin with wild impulsive action, but with someone (you or them) who has learned to manage deep emotional waters. You contact your soulmate when you are calm within yourself, emotionally ready, and receptive. It might be through comforting words, or offering support to them or vice versa. There's a possibility your soulmate has been quietly observing you from afar, waiting for the right time to open their heart or maybe you offer the first words, but they're so emotionally grounded that the interaction feels like home.

➤ Scenario Possibility:Maybe you’re both volunteers at an event, or colleagues on a quiet project. You’re not necessarily seeking anything. But one day, something in your demeanor draws them in is your stillness, your grace. They ask you a gentle, deep question likeone you’ve never been asked before. You give a vulnerable answer without overthinking it.

The Six of Swords: It shows that contact is made after movement like physical, emotional, or spiritual. Either you or your soulmate will have recently moved on from a painful chapter: an old love, a trauma, or even a period of isolation. You contact them when you’re transitioning from one identity into another when you're still healing, but no longer anchored to the past. This card often indicates a literal or emotional journey that precedes your meeting. Perhaps you meet while traveling, relocating, or after finally cutting ties with something that kept your heart unavailable. The connection may start subtly, like a soft offer of company during uncertain times.

➤ Scenario Possibility:You’ve just left a toxic friendship or finished a long chapter of solitude. Maybe you're in a new city, or even on a solo trip. You meet your soulmate in a quiet, transitional space on a ferry (or maybe you dream of being on one), in a quiet bookstore, or after a support group. They don’t rush into your life. They simply sit beside you in that in-between moment and let their presence say: “You’re not alone anymore.”

✦ do you want a personal reading like this?

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—

📩 DMs Open: @xuexing-lumi Tumblr inbox

🖤 closing words from Lumi:

We ride or die, even through the mess. 💅 — Lumi, the Moon’s Bride 🌕💋

—

(ignore):

[akunya]

"somewhere only we know.”

pairings: dragon!sylus x m!reader

summary: thinking out loud, you begin to wonder how things would be under different circumstances.

tw: slight angst, sfw, fluff, MYTHIC SPOILERS.

notes: truthfully, the gender here isn't specified. however all of my fics are written with a male!reader in mind. do with that as you wish.

"Do you think, in another life.. We would still be together?"

Your voice cracked as you watched the petals whisk away. The soft grass swayed with the wind, a gentle comfort as you clutched it in your palm. The clouds swirled as you both sat in silence, staring at the sky in a comfortable quiet.

It was just the two of you together, in your secret little place that Sylus had brought you to that day. You found yourself asking to be flown back there often. There was something so calming about this side of Tarus, so serene, it nearly felt unreal every time you two sat here.

Sylus was the first to break the tension as he looked down at you with an amused smile. "Together?" His tone was teasing, but not enough to ruin the atmosphere the pair of you made for each other. The dragon was about to make another teasing remark until he caught a glimpse of your clenched fist.

"You know what I mean."

The slight tremble in your words struck his heart with guilt. He wished, for once, he didn't try to poke at you so often.

There was another long portion of silence between you two. Taking a flower into your palm, you fiddled with its petals, the delicate red smooth under your fingertips. Worried you made things awkward, you dug your feet into the ground to pick yourself up - almost, that is, until the man next to you began to speak.

Barely above a whisper, your eyes met for the first time that evening, looking at him with an emotion you couldn't quite describe. "I think so," Was it uncertainty? Fear? Relief? You didn't know what you expected from his answer, nor did you expect one in the first place. You felt as though he was staring into your soul, his red pupils shining in the warm tones of the sunset. A part of you wondered if bringing it up at all was foolish.

"..Yeah. We would be."

Blinking, you let out a heavy sigh you didn't know you were holding. A small chuckle left your lips. "I wonder what it would be like. Would we look the same?" You wondered aloud. It would be amusing if you were the taller one in the relationship in your next life, however, a part of you knew that was never going to happen. Your gaze went back to the sun as it set behind the mountains of Tarus city, the hues creating a cascade of orange and yellow across the sky.

"What does it matter? I wouldn't mind. Unless, you prefer if this fiend always has horns." Sylus nudged your side playfully, your laugh making butterflies swarm in his stomach. Sylus with his draconic features were like the cherry on top. Once scared, you grew to adore the rough scales of him the most, finding yourself caressing the smooth surface with your thumb on nights alone with him more than once. "The horns are a nice touch. I would miss them a bit." Looking back at him, you inched a bit closer, testing your luck to see if he would retract from your closeness.

He would not. He never did, not from you.

Taking his silence as a cue to continue, you started up your thoughts again. "We could have our own home together. It doesn't have to be big." You imagined a quaint little cottage in the middle of the forest. Small, but big enough for the both of you, adorned with treasures and trinkets from your past adventures. It was remote, but that's how you would want it: away from everyone else. Just you and Sylus in your own trove, shielded from the harsh outside world. After all that you have been through, you didn't really yearn for something lavish and grand.

"A small home isn't bad." Sylus found himself imagining too as he listened intently to your thoughts. He rarely let his mind wander and think about such trivial things, but this once he could make an exception. Thinking of a divergent future than what he was destined for always seemed futile. In the end, there was nothing he could do to break the curse he was born into. He was a monster, destined for his death by your hand, even if you didn't know it yet. And that was how the world saw him.

But, if it was for you, he could entertain your fantasy a bit.

"Is there something you want, Sylus? If we could be somewhere different."

You looked up at him again for answers. His throat tightened, looking down at how hopeful you were. So innocent, so pure.

For a moment, he had forgotten all of the crimes you had committed. Your hair flickered with the wind as the sunlight framed every part of your face beautifully. The outfit that matched his ever-so-cliche has never looked so right before. If he had no idea who you were, he would have thought you were an angel descended from the heavens, a blessing to bring some ease to his wretched timeline.

Maybe you weren't his arch-nemesis. Perhaps, his destiny wasn't as harsh as he thought it was growing up.

Maybe death wasn't so bad, if it were by your hands.

"So long as you're with me, I don't care about anything else." The dragon's words were taut. Fiddling with a flower in his claws, he twirled the stem mindlessly, letting it float away with the wind that brushed against you both of you.

Leaning against his shoulder, you didn't bother fighting them when your eyelids started to feel heavy. You didn't need to question or ask anymore. He was right, in the end. Sylus didn't care for moving either, watching the sun slowly set and cast the city in darkness once again.

If you two were together, that would be enough.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

not me doomposting about l*ona again

I pointed out in an older post that Leona seems to demonstrate a unique ability to unite others under a common cause. This is in spite of the lore stating that it's very difficult to get different kinds of beastmen to see eye-to-eye, so much so that Sunset Savanna's acting king, his older brother, has yet to really unify their people.

WELL.

***Spoilers for Leona's Nightmare Suit vignettes below the cut!***

A central theme to Leona's Nightmare Suit vignettes is figuring out what makes someone worthy of being "king". At the start, everyone is reminded of Jack Skellington's status as the "King of Halloween, which makes him the most important person in town. However, Leona's quick to point out that the title isn't what's important, but what one achieves is. He then expresses interest in what it is exactly that Jack Skellington does around here to earn his crown. His opinion of Jack isn’t that good; in the event story, Leona thinks Jack doesn’t pay attention and doubts that he can have deep thoughts. Jack describes his duties as making Halloween the scariest it can possibly be. He drives around in his buggy, walks his dog Zero through the local cemetery, studies and conducts experiments, and reviews the proposals from Halloween Town residents. An important part of his job is considering his people's ideas! But Leona thinks there could be a more efficient way to do this rather than having the king read the proposals one by one. We can see a divide between their ways of thinking; Jack is willing to hear individuals out whereas Leona is focused on efficiency. This is also reflected in how they assign tasks later in the vignettes. Jack has everyone going up one ladder to decorate, while Leona commands the witches to do this task, as its much faster for them to do on their brooms. I don't know if this was intentional, but the way Jack rules feels reminiscent to how Leona often describes his older brother, Farena/Falena. So often does Leona mention that Falena is too kind and cares too much for others, which impedes on the political and economic gains he could be making if he were just more focused on his goals. “[Falena] could just focus on the kingdom’s affairs–you know, his JOB–but nooo, he’s gotta be the caring big brother who’s nice to everybody." (If you want to read a more in-depth analysis of Falena vs Leona's priorities when it comes to ruling, please read this post.)

Leona claims that the qualifications for king around here are actually really simple--and yeah, maybe there's nothing more to his line than this, but considering that in his home country one's order of birth is also a strong determinant, a merit-based system like what's seen in Halloween Town probably is simpler to him. And that means it's his time to shine and be acknowledged when he wasn't successful at earning this recognition back home.

Now, what REALLY surprised me in these vignettes wasn't that Leona knows how to boss around his peers and put their strengths to use (for example, he tells Vil, who has an eye for detail, to look over the embroidery, and Idia, who is a science and math whiz, to handle difficult calculations). It's that Leona is also perfectly aware of the abilities of the Halloween Town residents--people he has only known for less than three days--and uses them and their skills well too. That's an insanely short amount of time to get to know an entire TOWN'S worth of people and what each of them are like... yet he just pulls it off effortlessly????? HUH... This earns him the praise of Dr. Finkelstein, the mayor, Jack, Sally, and Skully. Sally in particular highlights Leona's strengths very concisely, stating that he can accurately assess the situation and give appropriate directions on how to act in that situation. Skully adds that Leona technically doesn't move himself or do any of the dirty work, he's focused solely on giving orders. This makes him a "king" and a leader of equal standing as Jack Skellington. And then Skully--SKULLY, THE OBSESSED HALLOWEEN OTAKU THAT THINKS HALLOWEEN SHOULD BE A VERY SPECIFIC WAY--says that Halloween was made possible by not one, but two great kings this year. It just goes to show how much one can truly accomplish when not barred by a negative environment and a lack of social support.

One definition of "king" that is offered in these vignettes is "the one who can bring everyone together". That's certainly something that both Leona and Jack do, albeit in very different ways. But then, at the end of the Halloween Town segment of the vignettes, Leona acknowledges that "king" can be defined another way. He realizes that Jack is recognized as king not just because he's a leader, but because he's also needed and loved by the townspeople. This, too, is a "king". However, it seems that this is a definition that Leona somewhat looks down upon, as he basically apologizes to Jack for not thinking highly of him at first. Again, Leona prioritizes getting shit done, no matter what the cost of it may be--and even if it earns him the ire of others. This, as I said earlier, puts him in stark contrast to Jack, as well as his own older brother. But here and now, we have Leona finally seeing the strength that a different kind of ruling can have instead of always speaking so disparagingly about it. Even if it's just a little... it feels like he's growing and learning, doesn't it?

The vignettes end on flashing forward to Leona back at Savanaclaw dorm. A few of his freshmen students are goofing off right before magift/spelldrive practice is about to start. As soon as Leona shows up, the freshmen snap to attention and rush off to change for practice. Jack (Howl, not Skellington, lol) remarks that usually the other first years are so lazy, but their attitudes completely changed when their dorm leader appeared. Ruggie chimes in, saying that Leona keeps the entire dorm in line... THJBAEBVUFAEIYAFIOYBVADFILH ThEN HE CALLS THEIR KING THE BEST... AND JACK AGTREESS... WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SHUT THE FUCK UPAS ALREADY STOP POGINTONG OUT HE'S A AGOODFK leADER DFOR YOUE AEPEOPLE YADFJKHAFLIYVDGVYUADGVUEGAVN

In response to the praise, Leona says that simply scolding misbehaving students doesn't make you a king. If it were as simple as that, it would be a pretty cheap throne build only on flattery. The vignettes end with him telling everyone to move their asses to practice. lh WDBHFAIYOEAIYEIYF BUT TAHAT'S PRETY YMASSIVE FOR HS CHARACTER... These vignettes demonstrate that Leona's not fixated on the title of king, but what it means to truly "be" a king and leader. He doesn't value being called a "king" if he feels it's easily earned, he wants to prove himself worthy of it and earn that title through his talents. This all circles back to a thought I had a while ago: that what Leona is after isn't the literal seat of king, but all the things that come with it but was denied of in his childhood. Respect, admiration, recognition for his abilities.

And 💦 Leona doesn’t realize it yet (either that, or he’s in complete denial) but… He also fits that second definition of “king” 😭 He’s the type of person that gets things done (like what he believes should define a king) BUT GIS DORM MEMBERS ALL ALSO NEED AND LOVE HIM…

OOoogohoggoOGH... OTL I hate how well it comes together...